


Inscription

by Snailsway



Category: Original Work
Genre: Drama & Romance, F/M, Fantasy, Historical, Princes & Princesses, Royalty, Teen Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-09-06 15:01:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16834957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snailsway/pseuds/Snailsway
Summary: The Kingdom of Kong, a barren snow-covered land in the constant state of war, has no need for its youngest princess.  Shuang learned from an early age that it was in her favor to be quietly invisible, though that didn't curb her wish to escape.  When the son of the Duke--handsome, cunning, ruthless--takes a sudden interest in her, she begins to wonder whether she might not find love and freedom after all.Her plans are derailed when her father agrees to marry her off as a bargaining chip to the neighboring prince, who, rumor has it, is handsome and just.   But Shuang isn't ready to exchange one prison for another, and she plots her escape on her wedding day.  Unfortunately (or not), she runs directly into the prince to whom she's engaged, who is every bit as handsome as rumored . . . And the son of the Duke isn't ready to give her up yet either . . .





	1. Chapter 1

The text herein is a reproduction of a bamboo manuscript dating from a time before the Warring States period, though modern technology has yet been able to discern a precise date. The manuscript purports to be by a diary by the hand of a female scribe. This is exceedingly rare, both because the female scribes have always been rare and because the diary recounts hitherto unknown tales about the kingdoms of Yi, Feng, and Kong. If you have not heard of such kingdoms, you are not alone. All traces of this bygone era appear to have disappeared, save for this sole manuscript and a related jade pendant, both of which are now in the hands of a private collector.

I discovered the manuscript on a visit to small, no-name town on the northwest fringe of China. The town had no more than 2,000 people and was desperately run-down, though the faded opulence of its architecture suggested that it had not always been so.

How did I end up there? I was sent by the company I worked for at the time--a small auction house for rare books and antiques based in Beijing. My boss then was a dreamy young heir who spent the majority of his days paging through worn books on his couch while sipping well-aged _Long Jing_. Manning a company would not have been a logical choice for him, except for the fact that his languid sluggishness reenacted the nouveau riche's fantasy of old money: obscure antiques, exotic teas, expensive sofas, and, most unattainable, boundless leisure. The money therefore poured in despite, or perhaps because, of his complete lack of effort.

It was a year into my employment when he summoned me to his office, a dim but luxurious little hideout suggesting Monte Cristo's cave, to give me the assignment. I immediately accepted. This no doubt came as a surprise to him, because I had previously voiced my distaste for traveling. What he did not know, however, was that I was particularly eager for an excuse to leave town after the peculiar incident that occurred during a valuation session earlier that week.

I describe the episode here only because it relates directly to my later discovery of and fascination with the manuscript.

The session was held on a cold spring day at a bookstore near Peking University, where a horde of dotty old professors stampeded to our creaking table with their crumbling books and other knick-knacks in hopes we'd discover something valuable. I was glad to see some of the professors, for I had just recently graduated from the University's art history program, but to the disappointment of everyone, just about everything they presented us was worthless.

Around mid-afternoon, when the business continued to yield nothing and the crowds began to dwindle, I suggested to Old Wang, my colleague, that we wrap things up. It was right about then that the young man walked in.

He immediately stood out, both literally and figuratively, from the sea of old faces in wool cardigans. Already a head taller than everyone else, he was rendered particularly conspicuous by his sharp, tailored suit that screamed money and his indisputably handsome face.

As to me though, he caught my eye for another reason entirely, a strange reason.

I felt that I knew him.

It was not the feeling that I had seen him somewhere before, for I would surely have remembered if I ever saw someone so striking, but rather, the feeling that I knew him personally. That he was familiar to me.

The crowd, as if sensing his difference, parted willingly and allowed him a path to our wooden table stacked with worthless books. As he approached, our eyes met and that feeling of inexplicable familiarity grew stronger. I wondered if he felt it too, for though he betrayed no expression on his stoic face and his body remained perfectly poised, I thought I detected a flicker of hesitation in his eye.

He spoke politely and formally, in a cool baritone, and explained that he stopped by on a whim after stepping out for an after-lunch coffee. He had a family heirloom, a protective talisman of sorts, that he'd like us to examine. He didn't intend to sell, but because it looked very old, he wondered if we could tell him about its origins.

He then produced what appeared to be a jade pendant, the sight of which drew a sharp breath from Old Wang. It wasn't hard to see why.

The pendant was breathtaking piece of art, a true treasure among the scraps we'd seen. Intricately carved in the pale, gleaming stone were two strong, writhing dragons intertwined around an obsolete, ancient character-- _Ni._ Old Wang scrutinized the pendant under his light and remarked that it was quite real and old, the jade, and therefore quite valuable. But what made it more so--launching it into the tens of millions--were the carvings, which were so detailed and precise that they seemed to showcase every tiny dragon scale.

And as to the origins, I added, it must have been made around the 400 B.C., or even earlier, for this style of writing ceased to exist thereafter. The modern version of _Ni_ , which is rooted in the Han style, looks quite different. And the depiction of the dragons likewise conforms to the popular style of that period. If we could take back to our facilities and further examine . . .

But here, the young man declined politely and left. Indeed, even as we spoke, he appeared to have lost all interest in the jade and was instead staring intently at me. I present this not as a brag but merely as a fact. He looked puzzled, as if he couldn't quite figure out who I was.

After he left, Old Wang chuckled at me. How could you lecture him on the origins of _Ni_ , he asked, laughing. He _is_ a Ni, the sole heir of the Ni real estate conglomerate. He owns this building, didn't you know? I felt slightly embarrassed about this, but not overly so, as I didn't know much about heirs, being from a middle-class family of no repute. It explained, though, why the figure we quoted him on the jade was of no interest. What's a few million, given all he has?

Logically, that should have been the end of it.

I found him outside the bookstore some thirty minutes later. Or, more accurately, he found me. This time, I saw that there was true hesitation in his demeanor, and he began with an apology. I don't mean to startle you, Miss Bei, he said, accosting me on my way to the car. But do I know you? I feel sure that I do. Not that we've met, but that I've always known you, or from long ago. I know that's strange, but do you know what I mean?

Again, he faced me with that puzzled expression, now tinged with mild exasperation, as if he were on the precipice of recovering a memory just out of reach. I hardly knew what to say, except that I too felt puzzled, and that the sense of familiarity grew yet stronger as I stared into his serious, dark eyes.

Then suddenly, a paralyzing wave of sadness crashed over me. I saw his eyes widen with surprise and felt his finger brush a tear from my cheek as it slipped down, unbidden.

This I couldn't stand. I slapped his hand away brusquely and said with deliberate coldness, I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, please take care. Then I slid into the cab, where Old Wang was watching me in shock, and slammed the door. I never looked back, though I thought I heard him say: we'll meet again.

I didn't see him again the rest of the week--indeed, I was convinced we would never meet again, our worlds being so far apart--but the image of the young man and the feeling of sorrow bordering on despair continued to plague me. What exacerbated matters was that Beijing had entered its rainy season and the grey skies inevitably weighed down on my depressed mood. It was therefore almost a relief when my boss finally called me to his office on Friday afternoon to present me with the intriguing assignment.

A distant old relative had written to him, offering to sell a rare manuscript she owned on consignment. The text had been passed down in her family from mothers to daughters for thousands of years (she claimed) but, alas, the line of daughters had come to an end and, besides, she felt it in her bones that it was time to part with her treasure. The only caveat was that she needed someone to pick up the text directly, at it was delicate and required the attention of a specialist.

The story seemed flimsy to me, but my boss said he owed her a favor and asked if I could go, as I was the most junior and most dispensable. Far from feeling insulted, I felt it in _my_ bones, impulsively perhaps, that it would do me some good to leave rainy Beijing for awhile, to run away from the melancholy that threatened to overwhelm me.

The old lady lived in what once must have been a grand estate. Her son was the town mayor, as was her husband before, and her husband's father, and so on. Somehow, the family had managed to escape the combined ravages of communism and capitalism and to cling on to both their fiefdom over this small town and this large mansion, with its maze of wood-carved corridors that boxed in dainty courtyards.

After I washed off the endless hours of air, train and car travel, I lunched with the son, a jolly, provincial man with a paunchy stomach. He thanked me for coming and warned me that the old lady was a bit batty, always speaking about visions and such. He didn't know why she wanted to sell the manuscript all of a sudden. Though I couldn't say why, it somehow seemed fitting that this little town that eluded modernity should have its own shaman-esque old lady.

In the afternoon, the hired help guided me through the maze of corridors to the matriarch herself, who dwelled in large chamber suffused with incense, where, perhaps all the matriarchs of the family had dwelled in their time. She was a small, shriveled woman who must have been nearing one hundred, and upon first glance, she looked beyond frail, leaning against her oval bed frame while gently kicking her tiny, mangled feet. Yet, upon seeing me, her droopy eyes widened in surprise, then lit up with renewed energy. With a radiant, toothless smile, she said: "Yes, you're the one I've been waiting for."

I did not understand what she meant and wrote it off as her inherent battiness. In any event, she wasted no time and asked that I follow as the hired help wheeled her to a hidden, inner chamber--a dark, cool place that served as a sort of library, or tomb, for shelves upon shelves of old books. Surely, there were innumerable treasures buried in the library . . . but she was only interested in showing me the one, which she presented to me with that same, radiant smile.

Here, I must say that the manuscript was certainly astonishing in its own right: a thick stack of ancient bamboo slips with columns of neat calligraphy that, though faded, remained beautiful. I had never seen such well-preserved work, especially from so long ago. I knew right away that the manuscript was the real thing, and that it dated from the Warring States period or earlier, based on the style of writing.

I could devote pages to discussing its origins and its style, but truthfully, what really caught my attention at first glance was nothing more than the drawing on the surface slips. It was none other than an ink rendition of the carving on the pendant, two dragons intertwined over an enlarged, ancient _Ni_!

I could hardly believe my eyes, and yet that was the inescapable truth. The pendant had followed me from Beijing to this remote outpost of modern China.

Almost mechanically, I took the manuscript from the old lady, who peered at me enigmatically but explained nothing. She only asked that I handle it with care, but that I may read it if I wished.

And so I did. Under the dim lamplight in my room, I began to absorb the strange tale I reproduce here, in modern writing. It is, as I said, a story erased by time, yet also a story strangely personal . . .


	2. One

Day 1

The air this morning suggested spring. As I wound my way across town, I spotted some early blooms dotting the roadside with fresh color, which inspired a woosh of giddiness in me, for they seemed to promise something new, a break from my pleasant but otherwise unremarkable life.

The giddiness intensified when they let me into the royal estate. The inside was every bit as impressive as the exterior, and I could hardly breathe as the maid led me across gleaming wood floors carpeted with plush plum petals. More astonishing still were the series of courtyards with the most magnificent gardens. Beyond an abundance of flowers and carvings and lanterns, which all the rich people in town had, there were even miniature stone bridges that arched over real ponds full of golden fish and lotus leaves. They really spared no expense on this place. No doubt the lilies would be breathtaking in the summer, if I were allowed to remain until then.

Her Ladyship's sitting room was at the back of the estate. When I reached it, I saw immediately that I was late. Her Ladyship was already seated at the front of the sparsely decorated chamber, and three other young ladies were kneeling before her. Hearing my footsteps, they all turned back to look at me, and I recognized them at once. Why, it was Li Yuhua, Pu Lang, and Jing Lulu! I was as surprised by their presence as they were (undoubtedly) by mine, but I had no time to reflect. As the maid announced my name, I quickly prostrated myself on the ground without uttering a word.

I was nervous, I'll admit. The room was cold, sparsely furnished, and had none of the gardens' quirky, beautiful charm. There was also a strange atmosphere to the room, a tense silence, as if no one knew quite what to do. The other girls said nothing and stared at me wordlessly. As for Her Ladyship, I found her intimidating. Though young and demure at first glance, there was something in her expressionless face that frightened me. Perhaps it was those large, glassy eyes that blinked ever-so-slowly and that appeared as distant and as empty as a doll's. I wondered if she even registered my appearance. In the moments of silence that followed, my enthusiasm cooled a tad. 

But, surprise: the announcement of my name inexplicably drew Her Ladyship's attention. "You're Yan Mo?" she asked in a soft, lilting voice, a voice at odds with her cold face. I hesitantly looked up and was startled but gratified to see a flicker of life her in doll eyes, even the beginnings of a smile. Her spirit had apparently returned to the room.

I responded quickly that I was indeed Yan Mo, daughter of Yan HuJing, and that I had come to take up the post of Her Ladyship's scribe. She listened carefully as I spoke and appeared satisfied, for she began to smile in earnest.

"Yan Mo, I'm ever so glad that you've come at last. I've heard so much from Mister Yan, and have been wanting to meet you—" Then suddenly, she started and exclaimed to us all, "But please, why are you all kneeling? Do stand and take a chair!" It was as if she only just realized that we had been on the ground all along. "Sorry, I should have said so sooner. I wasn't paying attention. I sometimes—anyway, I don't . . . stand for ceremony much. And I'm very pleased you're all here. Please do take a seat."

We froze for a second, then scrambled to do as she said while exchanging bewildered glances. Her quick shift in mood was thoroughly bizarre and, I confess, I began to wonder if my new mistress was not quite right. There were those rumors about her, after all. Yet her voice was so gentle and sweet and her apologetic panic so sincere, that I couldn't help but take a liking to her. She had none of the bearing one might expect from the governor's wife. One who had been a princess, no less.

We sat on the edges of our hard, wooden seats as she began again to speak, now shyly and without confidence, her large eyes darting uncertain glances at us. "I'm very pleased you're here, all of you. Miss Li, Miss Pu and Miss Jing are here as my new ladies in waiting. They had just finished introducing themselves before you came. And Yan Mo, as perhaps you've inferred, is to be a new scribe. Her father is Ren's—that is, the Governor's--chief scribe, and she shall be mine. I do hope—that is, we're all of similar age—I, a few years older—but I do hope we shall treat each other like sisters. I shall certainly endeavor to do so."

Here, I couldn't help but smile and nod, for there was a true warmth and sincerity to her lovely voice, even if she wasn't so sure of herself. The other ladies were more restrained, but I could tell her words had put them at ease as well.

The strange mood from when I first entered the room thus dispelled, the ladies exchanged a few easy words (of course, some platitudes for the mistress), to which I listened respectfully and with relish, before Her Ladyship dismissed us. We were to spend the afternoon settling into our new quarters and exploring the grounds, before everything begins tomorrow.

Shockingly, my chamber shared a courtyard with those of the three ladies, and it was every bit as extravagant as theirs. Having grown up in my small room with nothing more than a simple bed and table, the new large room with its colorful silk rugs, soft, plump pillows, and shiny copper vanity felt like a dreamscape.

I was at first rather nervous about approaching the ladies, for outside of these walls, we certainly would never cross paths, they being heiresses of the richest merchants in town. Growing up, I had observed them with some degree of jealousy as they glided about town in their glamorous robes and with their trains of servants while I ran silly errands for Father. But by some miracle, they weren't at all difficult or arrogant as I had imagined them to be. Lang and Lulu, in particular, were relentlessly cheerful and chummy, viewing the whole lady-in-waiting business as an amusing adventure away from home. They were, despite all their money, simple provincial girls and had none of the airs of the aristocracy, I suppose. Yuhua was more reserved, and I was a bit hesitant around her. Or perhaps I was simply in awe. She was so beautiful and elegant, undeniably so, that I felt like a clumsy oaf beside her. But all-in-all, she was kind to me as well, and I hope to know her better in the coming days.

It is now time for bed, but I find it difficult to calm myself for sleep. We spent the afternoon exploring the beautiful gardens and then ate a meal more sumptuous than those in my wildest dreams. I must sleep though, for tomorrow, I shall begin my official duties.


	3. Two

Day 5

It's been frightfully busy, though I don't regret a second of it. Lessons for the ladies began the day after we settled in. The instructors were sent straight from the capital—nasty old ladies, to be honest—to teach My Lady and her ladies-in-waiting proper court etiquette and a host of other stuff, from the royal lineage to flower arrangements. I found it odd that My Lady had to attend, as surely she had learned all this before she came to our provincial town, while she lived as a princess at court. But Lulu told me that because My Lady wasn't from our kingdom, but rather, a barbarian from the north, she needed to be taught our ways.

I was allowed to attend to assist My Lady in grinding ink and taking notes. You might think this a privilege for a nobody like me, getting the same education as the ladies in town. You'd be wrong. The lessons went on every day, all morning. Some of it was dreadfully dull and all of it was useless. I entirely fail to see the purpose of learning how to properly bow to a foreign sovereign. What foreign sovereign would come to these backwaters? 

I noticed that Lulu and Lang, who began the lessons with enthusiasm, now had trouble concealing their boredom and they shifted around in their seats noisily all the time. As for My Lady, I sometimes wondered whether she was sleeping with her eyes open, so vacant was her gaze. I'm sure she didn't hear a word of what those instructors were saying. Of course, the instructors couldn't do anything about her, though that didn't stop them from shooting pointed glares her way.

Only Yuhua remained perfectly poised and attentive, a pleasant smile forever on her lips. Though she looked very pretty and was only trying to show respect, I'm sure, it began to bother me a bit. I felt that she was beginning to outshine My Lady.

"It's because Her Ladyship is a foreigner," Lulu whispered to me conspiratorially when she noticed my displeasure. "Sure, she's the Governor's wife, but Yuhua's a true Feng girl through and through. Her parents want to marry her into royalty, you know, so she's been training ever since she's a girl. Not like us . . ."

Well, be that as it may.

The afternoons were far more interesting. In addition to the usual scribe duties, I had also been summoned to help my Lady with her personal work—to compile a comprehensive history of the three kingdoms of Yi, Feng and Kong. 

Thus, the afternoons were reserved for just the two of us, hidden away in My Lady's private library, an inner sanctum lit by warm, spring sunshine and beautifully decorated with soft cushions and shelves of ivory. The whole place was fragrant with the comforting scent of ink and bamboo. Indeed, there was more than just bamboo! Our final volumes were to be produced on lovely sheets of silk and would be illustrated by the court painter. Surely, if we succeeded in finishing this work, our silk scrolls would be the most prized scrolls in all three kingdoms!

When I told Lulu and Lang about this, they shook their heads and murmured, and that's why the people find her strange. How could a princess, they ask, spend her leisure hours flipping through dusty scrolls? Absolutely unheard of. 

I couldn't disagree; yet, I confess that I rather liked this side of My Lady.

In the library, where no one was watching except me, the inconsequential scribe, My Lady shed her shy, doll-like demeanor and relaxed into her true self: one who flipped impatient through scrolls, hungry for knowledge, who explained her findings and methodology to me with her cheeks pink with passion. Sometimes, she would pause, embarrassed for her own excitement over the silly details that only she could possibly find interesting. But only for a moment, for she would then lose herself again. And I, who found history so dull, could not help being infected by her elation. For hours, I would watch her twirl around in the setting sun and listen to her eloquent parsing of events we had neither of us experienced, completely captivated.

It was in the library that My Lady truly became alive, her large eyes sparkling with joy. In the library, My Lady appeared almost beautiful.


	4. Three

**Day 9**

I have resolved that, henceforth, I shall not disparage our lessons, and I shall cherish My Lady all the more.

This afternoon was grey and muggy with the occasional drizzle. I envied the other ladies, who could spend their afternoons resting or enjoying other acts of leisure. My Lady and I, on the other hand, we were in the thick of reviewing rice records from some hundred years ago. My Lady said the records were essential to understanding the fall King Su, but in my view, it was just excruciating work. That the work followed a morning of nonsensical lessons ("On the Correct Use of the Fan -- When and When Not to Fan Yourself During Dinner") made it all the worse. Even My Lady's enthusiasm began to flag and, by mid-afternoon, the whole enterprise felt so sluggish that we paused to fortify ourselves with tea and cakes.

It was then that my horrid question slipped out. I should have known better, but I was off my guard, for My Lady and I had grown quite comfortable with each other and I now no longer feared speaking my mind around her. Of course, I knew she was my mistress; yet, I felt that I was more than a mere scribe. I liked her. She was not at all how I imagined but rather unequivocally kind and wonderful. And I believed that My Lady was not displeased with me. That, indeed, for some reason--perhaps because I was humble and discreet, or because I could read and write well--she enjoyed my company over that of the three ladies.

So I asked her, will there an end date to these awful lessons, reasoning to her thus: _First of all, these lessons are entirely useless. We will never attend a royal dinner here, as you and My Lord are the only royalty in town. And second,_ _you are yourself a princess, My Lady. Surely you don't need these old crones telling you how to fan yourself? Surely you, who have lived at court all your life, know better than they what is proper or not?_

I could tell my question surprised her, for she paused mid-bite and stared at me with her large, unblinking eyes. "I? I am not from your country. How I could know your royal customs?"

"But they can't be all that different from _your_ royal customs!" I insisted.

She responded with a rueful shake of her head. "My royal customs?" she murmured. A sad smile stole over her pale face and I felt her beginning to slip away again, as if she were receding into her pool of memories.

"Not at all. No one ever taught me any courtly rules. I was not even that much of a princess. It was not until I came to your kingdom that it became clear to me what it meant to be royalty. I think that I . . . but this is all in the past now. I am no longer a princess even, just a the Governor's wife."

I'm sure she would have dropped the subject, if I had not looked so intensely curious. When it became clear that my questioning gaze would distract her from our work, she finally gave in and told me her tale. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Much of this happened before I was born, but I gather that I was unwanted for the same reason that all girls are unwanted: my father wished for a son.

He was a self-made military man, my father. There wasn't an ounce of royal blood in him, but Kong in those days was a small kingdom, and in the army especially, nobodies could become somebody if they tried hard enough. My father tried very hard and, I hear, was very brave. By the time he was forty, he had already climbed to the position of High Commander, which was unheard of.

King Wu ruled Kong at the time. He was a depraved old man who had grown complacent from the decades of control his family had exercised over the kingdom. The people hated him, for they were hungry and Kong was weak. Thus My father, who had the backing of the entire military, saw his opportunity. Conspiring with the King's brother and a handful of noblemen, he overthrew King Wu and took power himself.

He was wildly successful as a king, my father. Kong expanded dramatically under his rule and became one of the three preeminent kingdoms in the region. It's just as we've read in the chronicles. The people, the troops, even the noblemen loved him.

My mother loved him, I'm told. I hardly know anything about my mother. I saw her for only a mere instant, if at all, before she slipped away from me. But some people still remember her. They said that she was the beautiful woman in the kingdom. The daughter of a viscount, she was younger than my father by twenty years. But that didn't matter, because my father was king. They tell me that my father fell madly in love with her on first sight, as some royal dinner or other. He had a queen already--a woman he'd grown up with and who had helped him attain his kingship--and even a son, but he wanted my mother.

Well, he had her. She became his royal concubine. I'm told that they were very happy together for several years. The only thing their marriage lacked was a child, such that when my mother finally announced her pregnancy, my father wept tears of joy and promised her that he would name her child his heir. I believe he would have loved her all the more if she had birthed him a soon.

That she would birth _me_ was an insult to their love. Love--a funny sentiment that isn't worth all that much when it comes down it. When my father heard that I was a girl, he gave the royal doctor a kick in the stomach before stomping out the room without a backwards glance. Nor did he look at my mother, who died that night.

I would have died too. If not murdered, I would have died from neglect.

But fate intervened. Or, more accurately, my Father's interpreter of fate intervened.

It was told to me that the royal court astrologer, a brilliant Master Wang, hastened to my father's side at the eleventh hour and announced to him that my birth was auspicious and that I must be saved. I was born at the dawn of the first frost, when the moon aligned with the eighth heavenly branch. Fate had great things in store for me, and my future was inextricably intertwined with the future of Kong.

I'm not sure my father believed him. He kept the astrologer around out of respect for tradition, but he was a strictly no-nonsense sort of man. He believed that he could control his own fate and, I guess, he did in way. I'd like to think, though, that he did somewhat regret my mother's death. In light of that regret, he waved his hand of mercy and granted me life.

Of course, this is all hearsay, and straight from the mouth of Master Wang, no less. But I have no reason to doubt him, for after all that, I was entrusted to his care. He and his wife raised me in their small pavilion tucked away in an obscure corner of the palace.

And as for the rest of the kingdom, my father included, it slowly forgot that it had a princess.

***

My Lady spoke distantly and without emotion, as if she had not been telling her own story to me. Yet I was deeply distraught and she must have noticed, for she paused her story to chuckle at me.

"There's nothing to be sad over, Mo-er" she said kindly, with a twinkle in her eye. "I may not have been a proper princess, but I had a great lot of fun. Master and Mistress Wang were funny and wonderful and treated me like their own daughter. I tell you all this merely to dispel the notion that I know anything about courtly manners. Under the care of Master Wang, I learned much about the stars, but nothing at all about etiquette. And I'm not sure I would prefer it the other way."

I fancied that her light-heartedness was feigned and didn't press her further. I, myself, had always been sure of my father's love and could not imagine an existence like hers.

And thus, I've decided that I shan't make a ruckus over lessons anymore, in fear that I'll dredge up more bad memories for her.


End file.
